


Fate's Cruel Trick

by preussisch_blau, TheCowboyArtHistorian



Series: World's End Dance Hall [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Introspection, Other, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Very. Complicated. Feelings., complicated feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preussisch_blau/pseuds/preussisch_blau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCowboyArtHistorian/pseuds/TheCowboyArtHistorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the weeks after his disastrous battle against Zoom, Barry finds himself with a slight obsession.</p><p>In the weeks after that disastrous battle against Zoom, Harrison finds himself part of far too many conversations about soulmarks for his liking.</p><p>Everything comes to a head after Barry helps take down Vandal Savage, and if you think either of them are pleased with the resulting developments you've got another thing coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate's Cruel Trick

**Author's Note:**

> Things I Finally Did: Included other characters, yeesh. Things I Should Have Done: Just made all of this a chaptered fic.
> 
> Also, I might have messed up the timeline a little, but it's hard to keep track of things when Barry decides to time travel… So, sorry about it if I did. (Can we just go with "It's an AU" as my excuse? I'm going with that.)

It would be _great_ if he were obsessed with finding ways to stop the evil dimension-hopping speedster, but no. He's not that fortunate, no one on Team Flash is that fortunate. He can't find his attention constantly stolen by something that actually is _useful_ in their current situation.

Nope. Barry's focus keeps getting taken by the short word on his arm. He's studied it so often by now that even in dim light he can make out the fact that it isn't black. Whereas before it took having something actually black up against one of the letters, or being in bright sunlight, where he could make out the soft green-indigo tones hiding in the darkness.

By the fifth time he'd unwrapped the bandage covering it in one day, Barry had at least finally had the sense to give up and stop covering it. It… didn't bother him anymore, if everyone saw it. He couldn't quite place why. Maybe it was just he was finally coming to terms with the idea of having a new soulmate, finally beginning to accept the truth in Joe's statement that Eobard Thawne didn't know him as well as he thought he did, that he could find happiness despite Thawne's actions. He still wasn't entirely certain he wanted to meet once more whomever wore his words and colour on their arm, but that was okay. He didn't need to seek them out. It was just enough to know they were still alive in _case_ he wanted to.

He debates with himself, though, on whether to tell anyone _else_ it wasn't actually black. Harry knows, because Harry is the one who pointed out he was wrong about the colour, but he's it.

Barry finds himself sitting on one of the platforms in Cisco's lab, watching Harry work, and discussing the matter with him one day.

"I just… I mean, there's no reason for me to _not_ say anything, and the sad looks from Caitlin are actually kind of bugging me?" he muses, swinging his legs idly.

Harry doesn't even look up from where he's making adjustments to that energy rifle of his. "Then say something."

"But if I say something, then everyone will expect me to figure out how to find them!"

"Then don't say something."

"But what if they notice on their own and are mad at me for not saying something?"

"Then. Say. Something."

"I really don't want to find them, though, and what if Cisco insists on vibing me or something to help?"

"Barry!" Harry finally snaps, setting his screwdriver down and spinning around in his chair. His expression is stern, but there's the hint of fond amusement in the corners of his eyes. "I'm really not certain why you think _I_ am the best person to discuss this with, but if you enjoy running circles that much, please go down to the accelerator ring and actually _run in circles._ "

Barry chuckles sheepishly, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be a pest."

"All is forgiven," Harry takes off his glasses as he speaks, "But, it's not like you have any other options."

"I wish I did…" Barry grouses. He drops his hand back to his lap, face turned towards the wall as he frowns.

Harry taps the tip of one stem against his lower lip as he watches Barry, pensive and otherwise still. Finally, he moves, bringing his ankle up to rest on his knee, yet also stopping the slight motions of his hand so the glasses stem rests on his lip. "Just tell them."

"But what if-"

" _Barry._ If you somehow cannot convince your friends to not force you into meeting your soulmate, then _I_ will convince them for you. If only so I no longer have to listen to this ridiculous circular argument."

Barry eyes him suspiciously, gaze narrow as he sits up straight. "How're you gonna do that?"

Harry quirks his eyebrows up, then slowly pivots his chair so he can casually glance over his shoulder at the weapon behind him.

"No, absolutely not. You are _not_ shooting anybody. Or threatening to!"

"Why must you ruin my fun," Harry sighs.

Barry just shakes his head, wondering what on earth he is going to do with this guy. He's been helpful, more than helpful, and he absolutely trusts him by this point. But then there are moments like this where he _swears_ Harry's moral compass is a bit… broken. At least it's not the same way Eobard's was. Because where Eobard's morals began and ended at what suited him best, it seemed that Harry's morals were more aligned with protecting people, even if the methods were… dubious.

That's what he figured, at any rate, because there was no other way he could reconcile the man who had travelled to a different universe to rescue his daughter with the man who had, just earlier that week, wanted to go home and work by himself even though he surely stood no chance against Zoom alone.

* * *

"Barry…" Snow's tone is gentle, yet chiding, as she puts her hand over the short word on his arm. "Constantly looking at that is not going to bring them back, whoever they are."

Harrison can appreciate her being realistic about the situation, except she's entirely wrong. He glances up from the simulation he's running, looking over at Barry to see if he's going to follow his advice or not. Barry is worrying his lower lip between his teeth, hesitant, like he wants to speak.

"Well… it's… that's not what's on my mind," Barry finally says.

"Then why do you keep staring at that?" Snow asks, releasing him to cross her arms low over her ribs.

Barry sighs. "The thing is… the mark. It's not. It's."

He takes pity on his poor boy, because he's far too flustered and unable to speak despite clearly wanting to. "It's not black," Harrison supplies, turning his attention back to the computer.

"I'm sorry?" Snow says. "It's definitely black. I understand wanting Barry to feel better, but lying isn't going to help."

"No, no, he's right!" Barry interjects. "It's really not black. Just… really dark. _Really_ dark."

Harrison hears her sigh, notices her turn in his peripheral vision, no doubt to face Barry once more. He can understand the disbelief, honestly. He doesn't know much about soulmarks, has only done cursory research in the past, decades ago when he'd still been hopeful that his would show up. But he does know that soul marks tend to be, if not bright or vibrant, then at least _obviously_ coloured. And by tend to be, he means that he's never seen mention of one that's just a few shades off from black without the corresponding member of the bond being at death's door.

He vaguely wonders what the state of soulmark research is on this earth if Caitlin isn't willing to at least accept that perhaps Barry's soulmate is just terminally ill or something.

He's tuned out their argument, though he picks up the salient points whether he likes it or not. Snow is trying to delicately convince Barry that his conviction is just grief talking, without ever actually saying anything of the sort, and Barry is protesting that, no, really, he knows what he sees and he is not imagining things.

Finally, Harrison sighs and tugs a Sharpie out of his pocket, tosses it with a flick of his wrist towards Barry. "Catch."

His aim is on point, as always, because Barry doesn't even have to lean in his seat to catch the marker. He glances over, clearly puzzled about why he's being given a marker. Harrison turns his head just enough that Barry can see the unimpressed look on his face.

It's a black marker. If Barry cannot figure out what to do with it, then Harrison is utterly incapable of helping him in any regards. And he despairs that the universe would match him with someone so incredibly _dense._

"Oh!" Barry says, suddenly understanding. He turns back towards Snow, babbling slightly. "Look, see, _this marker_ is black. And this-" he uncaps the marker and swipes it down his arm "-is _not._ See?"

Harrison shifts in his seat slightly, so he can better watch as Barry holds his arm out so Snow can see the marks on his wrist. Periphery only reveals so much, after all. With a different angle, he can see how Snow frowns, expression concerned as she studies Barry's arm. Watch as her brows raise in surprise, mouth dropping with pursed lips as she studies the evidence in front of her.

"It's not black," she finally says, clearly shocked.

He has the most _childish_ urge to crow 'I told you so!', but he resists. However, he does return to his work, feeling remarkably smug about being proven right without having to reveal why he knew the mark wasn't black.

* * *

It really is the colour that has Barry so obsessed. It's not even a lie he tells himself to justify it, because, look, he is a forensic scientist. He had to sit through psychology classes as part of his major. The colour of a soulmark tells you a lot about your soulmate.

For starters, they usually come in very distinctive colours. The vibrancy of it does have meaning, though. Purer colours indicate a personality aligned in a specific direction. Tertiary colours mean a blending of traits, though usually it's skewed towards one side or the other. Lighter colours indicate either a more cheerful disposition or a more aloof one; it depends on the base colour group. (Though either way, pale souls tend to give off a shallow impression, even though still waters can run deep.) Darker colours -to a _point_ \- are for more serious, reserved people.

The kind of dark his soulmark is, though… that usually points to a soulmate that is dying. The only thing throwing him off is that ill-health in a soulmate also results in an overall _dulling_ of the mark, the colour pushing more towards neutral the closer the person is to death.

Whereas his mark is a very rich colour. It's just. _Dark._

It's ironic, he'd been bored during those parts of his psychology courses because there wasn't much use for soulmarks in forensics. After all, it wasn't a person's _own_ colour they wore on their skin, it was their soulmate's. Which meant you had to find the soulmate if you wanted to know about a person in a case, or hope that there were people who knew the pair well enough to be able to accurately describe the colour. (And considering how bad a resource memory was? Yeah, soulmarks tended to be pretty much useless in his field, aside from knowing for certain whether someone who had met their soulmate was dead.)

He taps his fingers lightly against his desk, turning his arm back down and checking on the spectrometer. It's still chugging along as normal, and he has some time before it'll give him results. Barry sighs, and considers zipping off to go talk to Harry about what he's noticed.

He's… not entirely sure why it's Harry he wants to talk to. Probably because Iris thinks he should look for his soulmate. And Caitlin is hard to talk to, what with the wound of losing Ronnie again still being relatively fresh. Cisco has offered to try to vibe for him if he wants to find his mystery person, but otherwise only ribs him endlessly about his sudden fascination, and Barry would like to talk to someone who takes this seriously. 

Dr Stein is off with Jax, doing… whatever it is they do as Firestorm. Patty is his _girlfriend,_ which just makes this too awkward, even if he knows that having a soulmate does not mean you _marry_ them. He doesn't even know where his dad is right now. And Joe… 

Actually. He's not entirely sure why he hasn't talked to Joe about this. It's not like he doesn't know anything about tricky soulbond situations. If anything, he'd probably be _better_ to talk to about this than Harry. Since the only thing that recommends Harry for talk of soulmates is the fact that he lacks one, which makes him refreshingly unbiased. (Or, at least, biased in favour of Barry leaving well enough alone, which is still nice because the usual view of soulmates is that you'd have to be crazy to not want to meet yours.)

But, no, Joe is usually pretty level-headed, even if Barry chafes at how overbearingly protective he can be sometimes. He'd probably have some good thoughts, and it wouldn't _hurt_ to get another opinion. Though he might not mention it has to do with _his_ mark specifically, because he's not sure how Joe would react, and he does _not_ need the silent treatment if Joe thinks he should find his soulmate, possibly from some sense that it would help Barry get over Eobard.

Which he doesn't need to do! He is _over_ Eobard. Done with him.

Really.

His mind made up, Barry pushes away from the desk and gets up to go find his foster dad.

* * *

"Hey, Joe, you busy?" Barry leans his hip against Joe's desk. It's not like he couldn't have just checked without anyone even knowing he did so, but that would've been kind of rude. Better to just give Joe the chance to avoid the conversation if he's got a lot on his mind, even if he doesn't have a lot of work.

Joe glances up from his computer, fingers pausing over the keyboard. "Oh, hey, Bear. Nah, I'm not too busy. What's up?"

"Not too much. Just had some questions about, uh, soulmarks, actually." Barry rubs the back of his head, trying to appear more nonchalant than he feels.

He thinks he succeeds? Even though Joe sits back a bit, brows drawing together, he doesn't seem too concerned. Which hopefully means he doesn't think this involves Barry's own. Which he still hasn't told him about. Well, in the sense of it not being black after all.

"Is this for a case?" Joe asks, and Barry has to hold back the sigh of relief.

It's not technically a lie? So he nods. Because this is a case, albeit a personal one. Kind of like how he'd treated his mom's murder.

"Okay, shoot."

"Well, the person in question has a weirdly dark soulmark? I haven't seen anything like it, to be honest, and I can't find my notes from college on the subject," Barry begins. He shoves his hands in his pockets before he fidgets too much. "I thought these things were supposed to be, you know, bright colours?"

Joe leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, face creasing as he thinks on that. "Well, a darkened soulmark can mean that their soulmate is dying. Which is not an uncommon motivator for certain crimes. Thefts, usually, if they can't afford medical treatment."

"But it doesn't, y'know, necessarily mean the other person is… a bad person?" That's something that has been weighing on Barry's mind a bit. Rationally, he knows that evil people don't have to have dark-coloured souls. Aside from the fact that his classes mentioned the whole light-dark/good-evil dichotomy really did not apply in the case of souls, there was, well, Eobard Thawne. Whose soul had coloured the sentence that used to be on Barry's arm an intense, electric red. Not dark at all, but the man himself?

Well, in some ways he had been and in others he hadn't, and that was the really tricky thing. He couldn't even firmly pin down how he truly felt about the man and he knew him, so how could he use a simple colour to decide how he felt about someone he'd never met?

His question is answered with a quiet scoff. "No, no. Dark colours just tend to be more reserved people. Serious types. Not always, but it's the most common way it works out. But, if you're worried your suspect might be motivated by a dying soulmate, it's not just how dark the colour is, it's how close to black it is. You can have a dark blue, but the person it represents is perfectly healthy. That's when you look at how grey the mark is."

"Desaturated, right. That makes sense," Barry nods. "So, um, what if… this is just hypothetical, but. What if the colour is almost black, but it's not desaturated? So it's still… I wouldn't say vibrant, but there isn't any grey in it."

That might have been the wrong thing to say, because now Joe is looking at him like he's not entirely convinced this about a case anymore. "Wouldn't know. Never heard of such a thing. Of course, this isn't my area of expertise. You should see if Caitlin or Cisco know someone who actually researches this stuff."

"Right, right, of course." Now to just… gracefully exit this conversation before it gets awkward. "Thanks for the help. I've gotta get back to my lab; spectometry waits for no one."

Barry starts backing away, ready to powerwalk his way back upstairs, but Joe says his name and he just stills because it's in that tone that says he is about to get a talking to.

"This isn't for a case, is it?" Joe asks.

"…Weyell… it's… a personal one? Not anything official?" Barry offers with a cringing shrug.

He totally deserves the flat look and raised eyebrow he gets. Doesn't mean he likes being on the receiving end of that stare, the one that says Joe is beginning to see through his bullshit, but he does deserve it. "This have anything to do with that little word on your arm?"

"Nope! Nothing at all!" His voice cracks on the first syllable. Crap. He clears his throat before continuing. "Just asking for a friend."

"Mm _hm._ Well, you tell your 'friend' to talk to one of the actual scientists." Joe pauses, face scrunching slightly. A frown tugs the corners of his lips, then he lifts both eyebrows as he looks up at Barry, chin tilted down. "You know, as much as I hate to suggest it, you might try asking Harry. He might know something they haven't researched around here yet."

"Thaaaat's a terrible idea," Barry says flatly. Which clearly only serves to raise Joe's curiousity. He kind of wants to curse right now, because he'd only said that so Joe wouldn't find out he _had_ been talking to Harry about the whole soulmate thing. Several times, in fact. Which is probably a weird thing to do when the guy you're talking to doesn't even have one, but what he does have is the same face as your now non-existent soulmate aaaand there's a perfect reason for why it's a bad idea. "Don't really wanna think about soulmates while looking at him, you know?"

Joe sighs. "Still not over it?"

"It's a work in progress," Barry shrugs, raising one shoulder and tilting his head to the side to almost meet it. And then he flees, at a mostly normal pace, because he is so not having _that_ conversation.

* * *

He doesn't get a chance to really talk to Harry, because he has a battery of tests to run on him the second he walks into S.T.A.R. The results are disappointing, to say the least. But there isn't much time to really think about them, figure out where to go from there, because Cisco has a problem. Well, not so much Cisco, but his girlfriend, who is being hunted by what turns out to be an immortal man who apparently has a vendetta against her and her soulmate.

One that goes back millenia, actually. Apparently Kendra and Carter have been soulmates for 4 000 years, their souls being reincarnated over 200 times. And this… Vandal Savage? He's hunted them through every incarnation.

The next couple days are… exhausting, to say the least. He starts off confident, maybe even overly so, because there's no way this guy can be worse than Zoom. Even after fighting him in Oliver's flat, Barry is still certain they can take him down. He gets the Staff of Horus, but they're pretty sure they have a way to turn it against him, and that, with Kendra being awakened to her powers, this will be a piece of cake.

He was wrong.

Nothing goes as planned. Kendra chokes, unable to use her abilities. He knows Oliver is distracted, an argument with Felicity clouding his response time, all because he wasn't capable of keeping a secret. And the gloves designed to help them control the energies of the staff don't work. 

Honestly? He was distracted too. Because earlier, when he'd been suiting up, he'd gotten a look at his wrist as he pulled on his gloves. 

His soulmark had been black.

And there'd been no time to think about it, no time to wonder what had happened in the time between when he'd last had a look at it -he's not even sure _when_ that was, because he'd been stealing glances at it ever since they got here, wondering if maybe he'd find that person here in Star City, and if he'd know if he did- and that moment, because they'd had to go save the world.

He runs, hoping against hope that it has something to do with the blast wave that followed him, incinerating everything in its path. He runs, knowing he could run fast enough to break the time barrier, but wondering if it would be enough. If he could save _everyone_ tonight. He runs, and his heart thuds loudly in his ears, but he has to block out all his distractions and focus on running _faster,_ otherwise no one stood a chance.

* * *

They spend the rest of the night after defeating Savage in Star City, and return to Central in the morning courtesy of Felicity's private jet. It's only pure exhaustion from all the running he's done in the past technically two days that keeps Barry from running back to S.T.A.R. on his own. He's tempted to call the lab, see if Harry is up late for whatever reason -okay, he usually is- and willing to talk. But the second he actually sits down, stops moving, all the running and fighting and stress catch up to him, weighing him down mind and body. He falls asleep where he sits.

It's later than he'd like the next day, the early afternoon, when he finally gets to S.T.A.R. Labs. Barry strolls into the Cortex, still nervous about messing with the timeline -but in the one he averted, everyone _died_ , and he _knows_ there is no way this timeline can be worse because at least with his friends, he has a chance against Zoom-, still worried about the fact that his soulmark went black. He wants to think it had something to do with Savage, but it went black before Savage incinerated everything. But somehow, going back in time? That fixed it. He thinks. He didn't have time to check up on the mark, actually. All he knows is it went black, but now it's closer to that night sky shade.

Actually, he thinks it looks more like a really dark _bruise_ right now, but sometimes the sky is more purple than blue.

Anyways, the Cortex is strangely empty. He thought Caitlin and Harry would be here, at least. He knows Cisco is busy, needing some closure and most likely time by himself as he says goodbye to Kendra. (He feels bad for Cisco. It's not like her being Carter's soulmate means they _have_ to break up, but given the millenia of history that Kendra and Carter's souls have? Yeah, it makes sense that she needs to go away with him for a bit to sort things out.)

"Caitlin? Harry?" he calls as he steps further into the room.

Caitlin's voice echoes from another room. It takes him a moment to figure out the direction, but when he does… his blood runs a little cold. The infirmary is in that direction. "In here, Barry."

He heads into the infirmary, and stops dead at the sight before him. Harry is the one on the bed, hooked up to monitors and an IV and he can see a bandage peeking out from under the blankets, a patch of white perilously close to his heart.

"What happened…?" he breathes.

Caitlin sets her tablet down on the table next to the bed. "Detective Spivot saw him and… mistook him for Dr Wells. Our Dr Wells. The one who technically wasn't Dr Wells, but you know what I mean. She shot him; the bullet stopped right next to his heart. If Jay hadn't been here… I don't think you could have gotten back from Star in time."

He nods, slowly. Patty did this? But… it doesn't make sense. Just because Harry -for obvious reasons- looks like Dr Wells, doesn't mean that she had to shoot him. And he can't picture Harry threatening her, or giving her any reason beyond his face. There's something odd about Caitlin's explanation, but he can't quite process it right now because he doesn't understand why and he wasn't _here_ and why do his friends keep getting killed or almost killed when he isn't there to help?

Barry finally looks at Caitlin, actually _looks_ at her, and she looks as exhausted as he felt last night. "Hey. Are you okay?"

She rubs her forehead tiredly, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah…" she yawns. "Just, haven't gotten much sleep. Too busy keeping an eye on his vitals. He woke up a little last night, but…"

"I can stay with him," Barry offers.

"Are you sure? You'd have to keep him in bed. I'm worried if he moves too much right now, the sutures might rupture."

Caitlin yawns again, and Barry's mind is made up. "Yeah, positive. If an emergency happens, you'll be back here before you know it. Otherwise… you need some sleep."

"…Wake me up before you run me anywhere?" she asks.

"I'll try, but I make no promises."

Caitlin chuckles, before picking up her tablet again. She gives him a brief explanation of what he should look out for -a sudden drop in blood pressure is absolutely an emergency-, and what Harry is allowed to do when he wakes up. Which is essentially 'stay in bed and don't move', which kind of runs counter to the list of things he's allowed to eat, because you can't eat without moving. But Barry doesn't bother mentioning that, since Caitlin seems to be running on fumes as it is, so she probably wouldn't appreciate him being a smart aleck. She even has a schedule for medications and when the IV needs to be switched.

He shoos her out of the room before she can go over everything a second time, because she has her entire treatment plan laid out in the tablet she's left with him, and Barry really wants her to not fall asleep on her way home. He offered to run her home, but she declined.

And now, he settles in to wait. Looking over the list of medications, he's not surprised Harry is out, because those are some pretty nice painkillers she has him on. As well as a muscle relaxer, which kind of makes sense if she wants to encourage him to stay in bed, though he's not sure what medical value it has otherwise. Of course, that might be why she's the doctor and he's just a forensic scientist.

Barry goes and gets a laptop and a nutrient bar, so he can work on some of his neglected reports from before his trip to Star City. He gets engrossed in his work, doesn't notice the passage of time until he sees Harry begin to stir in his peripheral vision.

He looks over… but, no, Harry is still asleep, albeit restless and fitful. Barry is tempted to wake him up, not wanting him to accidentally make his injury worse, but he's not thrashing. Just shifting. Though when he rolls over onto his side, Barry has to gently move him back onto his back. Caitlin specifically said she didn't want him sleeping on his side due to the strain it can put on the heart.

Then he has to adjust the IV line and the monitor wires, because they got a little tangled up between Harry rolling and him rolling him back. Barry takes his time, goes slowly, because if he rushes he might accidentally pull out the IV and if he does that, then he has to go wake up Caitlin so she can replace it.

When he's done, he rests his hand on Harry's arm. He's still asleep, brow slightly creased but otherwise looking relaxed. Barry rubs his fingers lightly against his skin, brushing over the inside of his forearm. He's warm, but not feverishly so, which is good… but… 

Barry frowns, looking down where his fingers rest. That spot feels a bit cooler than the rest of Harry's arm, the texture odd. He traces his fingers along the length of Harry's arm, curious, noting where the texture changes back to normal and his skin feels warm once more. It's almost like there's some kind of patch over his skin, but he can't figure what it might be for. Caitlin only said he was shot in the chest, not that there was some kind of burn on his arm.

He runs his hand back up from where things feel normal -right at Harry's wrist- and this time, when he crosses the transition point, he feels something catch, a slight flap like peeling skin.

Barry frowns. He shouldn't mess with it, should just leave well enough alone because clearly whatever Harrison is hiding is something that he feels _needs_ to be hidden. But. The spot is where a soulmark should be, which is odd, because who would pretend to _not_ have a soulmate? Unless he's worried that maybe something might happen to them, like his daughter was kidnapped?

…Alternately, it could be something really cool like maybe he's some kind of cyborg, but Barry is aware that is really off-the-wall thinking and not very likely at all. He's not even sure why he thought of it. Maybe because he doesn't want to consider that Harry lied about not having a soulmate.

He definitely should just pat that loose spot back down and go back to work.

Which is totally why he's carefully peeling at it, and the odd texture is revealed to be a flesh-coloured patch of some sort that is a little disturbing to look at because it looks _exactly_ like skin as he pulls it off.

Barry's heart all but stops beating when he sees the end of a sentence hiding there, the word ' _Who_ ' in handwriting that he doesn't want to recognise, a gold that he wishes weren't so familiar.

* * *

His arm is practically an icicle when he wakes up, and the rest of his upper body doesn't necessarily feel warm either, except for the bright, burning spot of dull pain in his chest. Harrison groans, fights back a shiver, and slowly opens his eyes. Yep, still in the infirmary. Still very much the victim of a trigger-happy police officer. Though, hindsight being perfect, perhaps he _should_ have stopped moving when she told him to freeze.

His vision finally comes into focus enough, losing the haze of drugged sleep, for him to note there's someone sitting at his bedside. He turns his head, feeling like he's moving at a snail's crawl, to see that it's… Barry.

Damn morphine, or whatever's in his IV, because he really can't help the soft smile he can feel stretching his lips, or the warm feeling in his heart. Is this what Tess felt whenever she had the need to seek out her soulmate? A relieving sense of comfort and assurance? If so, perhaps he needed to figure out how to send a message back in time to apologise for all the times he'd been offended when she'd been sick and wanted Tina over him.

He blinks, because Barry looks like he should be doing work, the way he's staring at his laptop, but he's not moving. Just staring intently at the screen, seemingly unaware of the world around him. But Harrison can see the screen somewhat at this angle, and it's not like he's watching a video or a movie.

His throat feels dry, so he clears it softly.

Barry jumps, the laptop goes falling, and it's only Barry's super speed that keeps it from crashing into the ground.

Harrison winces. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

His voice sounds hoarser than normal, but that doesn't come as much of a surprise given the fact that his fluid needs are being delivered intravenously for the time being.

"It's… fine," Barry says curtly, not even looking his way as he sets the laptop aside. "Do you need any more medicine?"

Well, that tone is enough to chase the warm, fuzzy feeling away. Harrison frowns, but as much as his chest does hurt, it's not bad enough he wants more pain medication. Nothing like pain to remind you you're still alive, after all. "No. But… a shirt would be nice."

"Don't think I can do that. I don't know how I'd get the IV out of the way so you could put one on." Barry still seems to be avoiding him, tone still cold, but he looks like he really would love to go get him a shirt.

Harrison exhales loudly through his nose. "You get me the shirt and I'll take care of the IV."

Barry finally looks at him, just for a few seconds, skepticism written in his eyes, but… He leaves the room. Hopefully to do as he was told. Harrison presses his hands against the mattress, using them as leverage to push his upper body into an upright position unsupported by the bed. It tugs painfully at his stitches, but he grits his teeth and bears it.

Then he carefully tugs the tube leading from the bag of fluids to the catheter in his vein until he can see the little mechanism that adjusts the flow. He takes note of how it's currently set before he clamps it shut entirely. Then he turns his attention to the Luer lock down where the cannula enters his right arm.

Barry returns, and Harrison can't say whether he used his speed or not, because he's lost track of time entirely. The IV is still connected at the lock, his attention focused on his soulmark, which should absolutely _not_ be visible because it was covered when he fell asleep. His heart settles somewhere in his throat, as the understanding of why Barry has been so cold dawns in his mind.

He looks up at the boy, and cannot keep the horror from his face.

"Barry…" he begins cautiously, slowly. "I…"

"You lied to me," Barry says, voice flat, not even accusing or sad. Just… toneless.

Harrison shakes his head, more to clear it than anything, because it's not like he can disagree. He did lie, lied through his teeth, but he did it to _protect them both,_ and how can Barry not see that? "I did," he replies. "I had my reasons."

Barry scoffs, looks off to the side, then down at the black t-shirt in his hands. He squeezes it, crumpling the fabric, before he appears to remember why he's holding it. It lands on Harrison's lap in a heap.

"I trusted you. Even when Jay said you had plenty of secrets, even when everyone else was half-convinced you were Eobard Thawne back from the dead. And you... you lied about... about how you _knew!_ About everything! How could you do this to me?" Barry had been avoiding looking at him the entire time he spoke, until he asked that question, accusing him.

And Harrison is fairly certain the accusation is less how could he have lied, and more in the vein of how dare _he_ be Barry's soulmate.

So he laughs, humourlessly, keeping his gaze on Barry the entire time. His fingers work blindly to undo the Luer lock, separate the IV temporarily so he can pull the t-shirt on. He decides to answer the question in the obvious way, without the nuance he's read into it. "Because neither of us want a soulmate. That's how."

Barry shakes his head in a wide arc, crosses his arms over his chest, begins to pace. "Not what I meant. Are… are you even who you say you are? Or…"

That raises his hackles, and he almost snarls as he cuts Barry off. "I'm not him! I'm not any _version_ of him, either. My name is and always _has_ been Harrison Wells, and if you're going to stand here and accuse me of _murder_ , you can leave."

Barry pauses in his pacing long enough to glance his way, and the betrayal is unmistakeable in his eyes. "I wanna believe you, you know that, right?"

"Then what's stopping you?" Harrison snaps.

"Because… because your soulmate is supposed to be your perfect complement! The other half of your soul! And I don't understand how any of it works, but… but… at least Thawne made _sense,_ you know? Because he was… he was the opposite of me." Barry starts off loud, gesturing wildly with each point he makes, but quiets, drawing in on himself as he draws to his conclusion, until his final words are barely above a whisper.

Harrison tugs his shirt on quickly, but not so fast he dislodges the cannula, then hooks everything back up, this time watching his actions, trying to think of a response. Finally, he sighs. "I don't understand how this works either. It _shouldn't._ We're not even from the same universe. I cannot, have not been able to, figure out why we would end up as a pair when it should have been someone native to this earth if the universe was so set on you having a soulmate."

Barry looks ready to interrupt, so he continues quickly, almost tripping over his words.

"But it isn't always _opposites._ You and I… we aren't _that_ different." Harrison pauses, then decides he's said his piece, because the only other words that come to mind are a too desperate _Are we?_

Barry gapes at him, looking remarkably like a fish the way he struggles for words.

It doesn't really surprise him when, in a blink of golden lightning, Barry and his laptop are gone… and his bag is sitting on his lap.

* * *

_He settles next to his mom on the couch, a little disgruntled. It's a school night, which means no TV unless it's educational. Which Barry is kind of okay with, but not really, but he really wants to watch something. Except there's nothing super interesting sounding that's supposed to be on. The only thing his mom can find that meets her criteria is some documentary on physics._

_And Barry likes science, but physics just sound boring from what he's learned in school. There's nothing cool like in chemistry! At least with chemistry you can make all sorts of interesting reactions, from something as simple as baking soda and vinegar, to this really neat thing his science teacher did once where she poured some acid on top of a small amount of sugar and ended up with a HUGE tube of carbon rising up from the graduated cylinder._

_But he doesn't complain, because otherwise he won't get to watch_ anything, _and he'll probably have to do chores or something._

_It's actually kind of a good thing he didn't, because even though there are a few too many boring old men… one of the scientists they have on is a much younger man, who talks with the sort of excitement Barry's never heard from anyone else before. At least, not about science. Cartoons, superheroes, video games? Yeah._

_But not about science._

_He's funny and engaging, blue eyes bright with energy as he explains how particles are observed by bouncing even smaller particles off of them, and how this results in uncertainty of knowing both location and momentum of these particles. He even demonstrates this using his hands, which is absolutely ridiculous looking._

_Barry could watch him all night, but unfortunately he's not the only scientist the filmmakers interviewed, so he has to suffer through the more boring scientists in hopes he'll see the one interesting guy again._

_He glances over at his mom with a grin after one of the fun segments, and starts to ask her…_

The sky is the now painful dark of the word on his arm, despite the moonlight streaming through his window. Barry groans, searches for his phone so he can see just how late it is. But he stops just before turning it on, an odd heartsickness coming over him. He thinks it might have something to do with his dream, one he barely remembers, beyond being cuddled up with his mom.

His thumb hovers over the home button, he stares blankly at the faint reflection of himself in the glass, like he could divine more memories of the dream if he looks long enough. But none are forthcoming, nothing comes to mind that could explain how he feels now. It's not the same sadness that he usually feels when he dreams about his mom. It's something more unsettling, sharp in a way he cannot place.

It's like something utterly irreplaceable has been stolen from him, long ago, except he couldn't even begin to determine what it was. Like it was taken before he ever really even had it.


End file.
